My conflicted and very serious opinions regarding the Mustache.

In theory, I love a good mustache. Mustaches are hilarious and cute. I love seeing them on coffee mugs and t-shirts and the recent trendiness of mustaches is something I fully support and mostly adore. I love cats with mustaches, I love mustache salt and pepper shakers and I know I’ve pinned a whole handful of mustache related items on Pinterest.

My love of mustaches stops, however, the moment one decides to grace the face of my husband.

See, Andrew decided to grow a mustache after my last visit, mostly because he can and because I’m not around to spend all day and all night cursing at him about it. In the beginning, when it was just a baby mustache, he didn’t tell me about it. But then it started to get noticeable and now, each and every time we FaceTime, I can see it and it’s not okay.

I love my husband, more than I could even begin to explain, but on Friday when he sent me a photo of his brand new Alabama concealed handgun permit, complete with a photo of his mustached face, I lost my shit a little bit, because seeing the face of your once-handsome husband ruined by a strip of reddish blonde man-fur is not the sort of shit I’m well-equipped to deal with, especially not while in the midst of conducting some early birthday shopping for the man.

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The thing about blondes, like my husband, is that they just shouldn’t have mustaches. Also, the thing about the Army is that it’s really, really strict about what mustaches gracing the faces of Soldiers can look like and it really only leaves the option for scary-ass, child-molester-esque mustaches.

All this to say, my husband shouldn’t have a mustache and so help me, if it’s still on his face when I visit him in two weeks, I’m going to shave it off in his sleep and make him eat it.

But still. Later that day as I was walking with a friend, we passed by a window displaying what she rightly named a “Mustache Garden” and I couldn’t help but take a picture of one of the mustached mustaches in the garden because really, mustaches are cute and adorable and funny and I really do love them, just not when they’re attached to my husband’s face.

Mustache Garden.

A photo posted by Terra Gatti (@terrabeara) on

8 thoughts on “My conflicted and very serious opinions regarding the Mustache.

  1. Nick recently decided that he would grow out all of his facial hair. He claimed it was both a “baby vigil beard” for a friend of ours and an early start for No-Shave November. It was truly a sad time for his face. While I think Nick looks best with a little facial hair – this was headed toward full out mountain man territory. It was terrifying and, like you, I threatened to shave his face while he slept. He was unmoved by my pleas to SHAVE HIS FACE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS RIGHT IN THE WORLD.

    So, in retaliation, I also stopped shaving. It was agonizing. I felt like I was just moments away from time traveling to the 1970s and living in a commune.

    But only for a few days. After day four or five, Nick agreed to shave his face if I shaved the cactus garden off my legs. I consider this a victory for humanity.

  2. San

    I totally agree (are you surprised, or not one bit? :))”:
    Mustaches on coffee mugs? CUTE. On husbands: not so much (= NOT AT ALL).

    While I do like a bit of (overall) facial hair on my husband, restricting the beard growth to the upper lip is NOT AN OPTION.

  3. Knight has had one since I met him; in fact he’s always had a beard kind of thing going on (not insanely long). The one time he shaved it off for an interview it was SO WEIRD. I didn’t recognize him. He has dark hair, so it works ok, and if it were molester-y I would totally have him shave it off, too!

  4. My husband shaved his goatee (which I love) into a stache for fun a few years ago. I was PISSED. I did not marry a chester-molester looking man with a stache. Thankfully he only kept it around a day because I told him that I wouldn’t have sex him with for as long as he had the stache.

  5. This is probably one of my favorite things I’ve read lately.

    I like facial hair, in the slightly rugged sort of way that is, y’know, not a mustache. My favorite is digging up pictures of when I was a year old and my dad had a ridiculous 80s-stache. It was… awful.

    But yes, mustache paraphernalia is great, and I love me some adhesive-backed mustaches as much as the next person, but… I don’t blame you.

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